Trent King’s thick arms coil around Bo Sinn’s waist as he grips the tire, hoisting him up with rough precision, the grease-stained skin of his chest glistening under the shop lights. Bo’s mouth opens around Trent’s cock, his throat working deep while fingers dig into his ass, spreading him wide before the first slow, brutal thrust drives him down onto the cold rubber. The workshop hums around them, oily rags, half-assembled parts, but none of it matters when Trent’s grip tightens, his breath ragged against Bo’s ear as he fucks him bareback, the tire creaking under their weight.
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